Crisis
by Flying-Bronco
Summary: Vince won't stay in after being ill with a fever and ends up in a bit of a crisis. Can Howard save him or is it too late for our favourite electro boy?
1. Chapter 1

A/N I do not own anything related to the Mighty Boosh. Its rather dark and not funny at all so it probably doesn't sound anything like The Mighty Boosh anyway My imagination is the reason this story has been created, so please tell me what you think so I will know whether or not to continue. Enjoy…

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Vince Noir; king of the mods, the juicy dangler and all round electro boy, stumbled clumsily into the gents bathroom of the local pub. Gripping the tainted white walls with one hand and holding his stomach as best he could with the other still gripping his drink, he stared blearily into the mirror in front of him. Hair was still intact and standing tall, although he could barely see his own reflection, everything was so very blurry to him. He took another gulp of his beverage to try and refresh his parched throat but was hit with a wave of nausea again. All but throwing himself at the nearest toilet, he retched dryly, not quite managing to bring anything up but still feeling the bile rising up his oesophagus. Vince Noir moaned pathetically, loathing this rather unusual feeling of sickness that he was experiencing.

He had never felt this bad when drinking before. However he hadn't been well to begin with. That was why he and Howard had fallen out beforehand. Vince had insisted on going out for a drink, "to actually have some fun," as he quite plainly put it, but Howard had declined, claiming that Vince's fever had not quite gone down yet and that it was a fool's errand to make it worse with alcohol….

"Oh come on Howard, just a few bevvies down The Prince," Vince begged. Howard sipped his tea, a look of annoyance written on his face,

"You've been moaning for the past week about how it feels like a chisel was secretly working away at your head, and you expect me to go along for a drink with you. That's a fools errand sir."

Vince rolled his eyes at Howard's bizarre way of saying simple things like "No"

"But Howard, I'm going mad in this house!"

"You're easily bored. Read a book, reflect on life's unending trials, listen to a bit of jazz," Howard suggested, propping up one knee to rest on his other leg whilst tasting his tea cautiously.

"Or I could go down the pub," Vince pouted childishly.

"By all means go little man," Howard replied. Vince stomped his glittery clad foot in a desperate attempt to make his friend look up from his cup.

"Not on my own, what loser does that? Where are Naboo and Bollo, they're usually up for it."

"Shaman business," Howard said.

"Well fine Howard!" Vince cried, dramatically throwing his arms into the air, "I'll go alone!" And with that he strutted out the door leaving one very bemused jazz/poet self-acclaimed genius in his wake.

It all seemed ages ago that the argument had happened, Vince thought to himself as he sat slumped over the bog, peering down through the not so hygienic rim.

"Stupid Howard, with his stupid jazz," he mumbled, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. His now empty glass clattered to the floor and smashed, but Vince did not notice until he placed his palms onto the tiling in an attempt to get up. The pain was dull and he could not see the shards embedding themselves into his soft flesh. Onwards he moved, leaving the bathroom, and gripping the walls as he exited the pub.

His head buzzing and his stomach churning in an uncomfortable fashion Vince Noir did not feel well at all. The dark London streets were almost deserted at the early hours of Sunday morning, apart from the few hardcore clubbers who were passing the stumbling slim figure, giving him a wide berth.

The stylish London flat he shared with Howard, Naboo the Shaman and his familiar Bollo was a short distance away. 5 minutes walking. However Vince was not walking, but staggering drunkenly, and on more than one occasion he found that the pavement was rushing up to welcome his face.

He finally entered the end of an alleyway and vaguely recognised it as the one he had to walk down to reach the flat. It seemed that the cruel hand of fate (as Howard liked to refer to it as) had other ideas though and halfway down the passage, Vince felt the nauseous experience reach a new height and he fell to his knees, vomiting out the salivary remains of the drinks he had consumed over the past few hours. Then, his eyes rolling back, he fell forward, only narrowly missing the mess he had produced.

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Howard Moon dozed on the comfortable black and white couch in the living area. His book on the history of jazz was sitting precariously over his face as he snored softly. The object teetered on its papery edge before slipping off Howard's face and hit the floor with a soft thud. It was enough to bring Howard out of his sleepy state. He had decided to try and stay up in order to chide Vince when he finally fell through the door. Truth be told, it was extremely tedious with no one here to talk to. Howard Moon was an island, yes, but he was an Island surrounded by other, slightly less significant islands in which he could communicate with, if he felt like it.

As if on cue, the door clicked open and Howard tilted his head back to see who it was. The flash of a blue turban followed by a large black hairy ape verified that it was Naboo and Bollo back from Shamansburys.

"Alright Naboo, Bollo," Howard called out from his position on the sofa.

"Alright Howard, what you doing up so late?" Naboo replied, pointing at a place for Bollo to put down all the shopping bags.

"Waiting for Vince to come home," Howard said truthfully, then an afterthought, "Its not that late is it?"

"Try 5 o'clock in the morning," Naboo stated, his voice rising slightly to indicate he was annoyed. "Why did you let him go out, hes ill you ballbag!"

"I got a bad feeling about this," Bollo muttered.

Howard felt a twinge of worry run through him. Bollo's feelings were usually right and it was pretty late, even by Vince's standards.

"Maybe he pulled?" the moustached man offered weakly. Naboo, tiny as he was, made Howard feel small with the stern look he was giving him.

"Don't make me turn my back on you," Naboo warned. Howard sighed and clumsily caught the coat Bollo threw at him.

"Well, don't wait up," Howard mumbled, doing up the zip of the brown khaki jacket and walking into the cold night air. Naboo shook his head in exasperation with Bollo as the jazz maverick left, clearly not liking the situation at all.

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In order to occupy himself from the icy sting that was reaching his face, Howard started to hum a familiar jazz tune under his breath. There was no one about apart from the odd car zooming past and when Howard turned down the alleyway connecting the flat from their local pub, he found it completely pitch black.

Now a tad nervous, Howard hummed louder, trying to block out the eerie silence of the narrow pathway. He guided himself by using the wall as a guide, only stopping to remark how stupid the whole situation was.

"Theres nothing here. You're Howard Moon, the great adventurer. You've survived in the thundra, escaped from crazed yetis, been captured in a dark box by a cockney nut job. You're not about to get a severe case of the shivers from an alley in London," the poet/photographer/writer chanted to himself.

"If Vince were here he'd be laughing at me right no-" Howard tripped over a large bin bag that had been strewed across the dirty floor. He landed with a loud oomph, his heart pounding at the sudden fall. His legs were still caught up in the black material when he went to rise and it was then that he noticed that the bin bag was a bit… odd.

Howard prodded the object with a foot and jumped back three foot when it moaned softly.

"Ahh, stay back! I know self defence!" Howard all be squeaked, but the thing did not move or make another sound.

A strange curiosity overcame Howard. Although he would deny it through his teeth, in a situation like this, if he felt his life was even minutely at risk he would leg it all the way back to the safety of his room. But this time, he wanted to find out what exactly he had tripped over. Pulling in a large gulp of air, he reached forward and gently rolled the black entity over.

"Vince?"

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A topless Naboo was alerted to the return of Howard when there was a desperate knocking at the door. He calmly uncrossed his legs and got off his large bed to go and see what the racket was. Bollo entered the living room at the same time as the tiny Shaman and they shared a worried look. Howard had not stopped banging on the door.

Naboo unlocked the door and took a step back as it was flung open and Howard rushed inside, carrying what appeared to be a large bundle of clothing. Upon closer inspection, Naboo's eyes widened at the sickening realisation that it was Vince Noir in Howard's arms.

The man in question was lifeless and limp. His head was tilted backwards in an awkward position, mouth slightly open. His black hair was stuck to his sweaty paler than usual face. Blood from Vince's hands had smeared on Howard's jacket, but the man hadn't noticed. What worried Naboo the most was the almost non-existent breathing of his punk friend.

"What happened?" Bollo asked Howard when Vince was laying on the couch, eyes still closed.

"I don't…he was…I can't," Howard stuttered, running a hand through his matted hair.

"Howard, calm down. Did you find him like this?" Naboo pressed. The Shaman moved over to the couch, Bollo in tow. The large gorilla pushed the stunned Howard out of the way to make room for Naboo to do his magic.

"Howard?" Naboo questioned, effectively snapping the man out of his shocked state.

"Yes, I found him like this in the alley. He's not moving or anything," Howard rambled a reply.

Naboo felt the mod's forehead and motioned for Bollo to collect some Shaman related materials.

"Shouldn't we get him to a hospital?" Howard asked, peering over the man's shoulder.

"Well that is the obvious solution yes," Naboo replied, "But until then this potion should stop him from going too far up shit creak without a paddle."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – OK next chapter. I am privileged to be story number 40! That's an achievement in itself! Thanks to those who have reviewed this story, please let me know how you're finding it and any requests will be considered. Enjoy (if you can!)

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Half an hour later and Vince was being carted to the hospital, Howard beside him in the ambulance. Naboo had opted to stay behind partly to not crowd the vehicle and partly because he secretly hated vehicles with flashing lights. When it came to police cars, ambulances and even taxis, he was as bad as Tony Harrison.

It all seemed a blur to Howard Moon. One minute he was laying at home, happily reading his book and the next, well the next he was sitting beside his best friend, who looked to be fighting for his life.

Never did Howard think that Vince could actually look as bad as he did now. The mod rocker's hair was so flat and lifeless that if Vince wasn't severely harmed from this dilemma, then he certainly would be if he knew how his tresses had not been groomed for so long. The pale face and dark circles under his eyes ruined the illusion that his best friend wasn't eternally youthful and carefree. Howard was sure that he looked thinner in the face as well (he put this down to Vince's illness).

Not knowing what to do, Howard stayed in the corner of the ambulance, watching the paramedic inserting IV drips into Vince's wrists.

"Vince hates needles," thought Howard.

"OK Mr Moon," the paramedic said, smiling comfortingly which only served to annoy Howard, "Your friend has told me what happened to Vince once he got to the flat can you tell me what state he was in when you found him?"

Howard explained all he knew of the situation in an exasperated manner, clearly further concerned that the paramedic was paying more attention to himself than his friend, who was unconscious on the stretcher.

"Will he be ok?" Howard found himself asking, although he berated his actions of sounding like a total gullible fool.

The paramedic smiled again to soften the reply.

"He is not quite stable yet. It looks like alcohol poisoning combined with his recent fever. When we get him to the hospital he should be alright."

Howard was not at all convinced.

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"Come on Bollo! We have to get to the hospital," Naboo all but shouted through the gorilla's bedroom door. The ape in question emerged carrying a worn suitcase which was bulging at the seams.

"I got to get Vince's stuff."

"He doesn't need all that Bollo, he's not even conscious," sighed Naboo.

"Vince always say. Bollo, never leave without essentials. This essential for Vince," Bollo persisted and Naboo found himself nodding in agreement.

"Alright, come on. We better get going."

"Carpet?" Bollo asked in confusion as Naboo began to walk from the flat without his magic carpet. It was now Sunday morning and the first rays of light bounced off the Shaman's jewel encrusted turban.

"No, travel pass," Naboo replied holding up a small rectangular piece of plastic. It was far too light to go flying about the city without getting shot at or something. Besides, the board of Shaman would have a field day.

Waiting at the closest underground station with all the unlucky early risers on their way to work, the tiny man dressed in his usual blue robe and matching turban and the gigantic ape clutching a suitcase raised a few eyebrows, but the pair weren't particularly abnormal, it was London after all.

They got on the train and luckily found seats. Bollo squashed himself between a fat woman listening to an mp3 player and an odoured man munching on his morning bagel. Naboo on the other hand had managed to get the last seat in the compartment, right in between two rather luscious looking office ladies. Needless to say he enjoyed himself immensely and when it was the stop leading to the hospital, Naboo left with two phone numbers, which he tucked into his turban neatly.

"Come on Bollo, its not far from here," Naboo stated casually, ignoring the grumpy expression the gorilla wore.

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A few hours later and Howard, Bollo and Naboo were standing in the hospital waiting room. Or rather Naboo was perched on one of the seats crossed legged and appeared to be asleep, Bollo was sniffing at the fish tank and Howard was constantly pacing up and down the length of the room. They had been there for well over an hour now and it was wearing thin on Howard's patience. The shaman cracked an eye open and said,

"Why don't you sit down. Chill out."

"I'm a man of action Naboo. I can't just sit here and wait while my friend's life hangs in the balance. I should be in there," he gestured towards the room where they had taken Vince, "I should be there, in the crossfire, dodging the bullets, I'm Howard Moon!"

"But you don't have any medical experience," Naboo countered.

"You'd get shot in crossfire," Bollo chuckled.

Howard crossed his arms and gazed at the medical unit again, "What are they even doing in there? Shouldn't that potion you gave him do the trick?"

"I never said it would magically cure him. Its an anti hangover potion I picked up on my travels. Just thought he'd appreciate a bit of relief when he's awake," Naboo replied, " I remember once, I was at this party in Dubai and I went so mad I was sick in my turban, passed out too. That potion is a lifesaver."

"Somehow I think this is slightly different Naboo," Howard said bitterly. He intended to carry on into a full blown rant, when the door to the unit swung open and a nurse walked out holding a clipboard.

"Friend's of Mr Noir?" she asked in a professional manner, only raising her eyebrow at Howard's dishevelled appearance (she did not seem fazed in the least by the presence of an elderly ape).

"Yes, how is he?" Howard asked.

"He consumed a lot of alcohol when his system was still fighting a fever. We were also suspicious to other substances he may have consumed that would have led to his current state."

Howard's eyes slanted distastefully, "he's not the drug taking type you know. He gets high on sugar puffs and ponchos. That's all he needs."

The nurse looked confused for a second, "No. What I mean is, we suspect that a drug such as rohypnol may have spiked his drinks. We therefore found it compulsory to perform a stomach pump to rid his system of any chemicals."

"So much for my hangover cure then," Naboo muttered quietly to Bollo.

" We have put him on a course of antibiotics to facilitate his immune system. He is sleeping now, but you can go and see him. Be sure not to wake him up though. He needs a lot of rest." The nurse smiled at the "thank yous" the three gave her and left the waiting area swiftly.

Howard found himself suddenly apprehensive at going into the room where Vince was recovering. It unnerved him somewhat that the usually bouncy and inanely happy man, the man who would be jumping for joy at the prospect of cleaning out the newt enclosure, the only person who would find enjoyment in being trapped in a deserted wasteland with no way of getting home, would be laying there in a hospital bed, clinging onto consciousness .All because he, Howard Moon didn't give a flying monkey about whether he went out on his own or not.

Bollo's gruff voice snapped Howard out of his thoughtful daydream,

"You coming?"

Taking a breath and pushing his tangled brown hair out of his eyesight, Howard nodded an affirmative and followed his two friends into the room.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N – A big thank you to all those who reviewed. You know who you are! Also a special thanks to radar-rox who gave a lot of input and support, which inspired me to get off my arse and write this next chapter!

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The starkness of the white room was slightly lessened by the shades blocking the bright sun that tried to get in through the window. It was still light enough to see however and Howard Moon spied the figure on the bed immediately.

He looked marginally better with all the blood and grime removed. Dressed in a lose gown which was typical of hospital patients, Vince lay very still with a blanket across his torso. His hands were bandaged, as was his head strangely enough. He was still as white as a ghost. Bollo had already begun to take out the numerous items from the suitcase he was carrying, placing a Mick Jagger idol here and there, and resting a brightly colour cowboy hat on the sleeping man's head.

They sat there for a while in silence, not really knowing what to say, until Bollo struck up a conversation about the club he was DJ-ing at currently. From there, the three partook in mindless banter, occasionally asking Vince his opinion (although he would never reply). It grew late when a different nurse walked in and stated that it was the end of visiting hours.

"I'm afraid you will have to leave now," she said sweetly, checking the clipboard at the end of Vince's bed.

"Is it possible for at least one of us to stay?" Howard asked in the most polite voice possible.

"Well, seeing as you're family I'll see what we can do," she replied. Howard blinked in confusion.

"Family?"

"Well, I assumed that you were his father. I am sorry if I assumed wrong," the nurse took a step back as Howard had began to twitch slightly.

"Uncle?"

"We're the same age!!!" he cried, making the nurse jump at the sudden loudness. Naboo, trying his best not to smile placed a hand on Howard's elbow to lead him out of the room. The moustached man, now bright red, mumbled something about being mature, not old and allowed the small shaman to lead him outside.

"Sorry about him. He's an idiot," Bollo apologised to the nurse before following.

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After an extended amount of time on the Northern line, Howard, Naboo, and Bollo arrived home. The clock shone the digits 21:49 in the dark room as they opened the front door.

"Go to bed Howard, you look terrible," Naboo stated at the exhausted looking man who had gone to make a cup of coffee

"I'm fine," Howard replied, "they can't drag me down that easily."

"Whos they?" Bollo asked.

"Well, uh…just those people…who like to drag you down. You know," Howard finished with a fake sense of superior knowledge. Bollo took a long stare at Howard before muttering,

"No," and then left for his room. Naboo, who had been observing the whole scene tilted his head to the side, a sure sign that he was pondering on something. Howard felt the eyes burning into the back of his skull.

"What?"

"I sense you're stressed," Naboo said.

"No kiddin'," muttered Howard Moon.

"Well do you want something to help? A picture of a donkey wearing a comical hat…I still have that otter in a bib?"

"No thanks Naboo," he replied dejectedly.

"Howard, you're not your usual…outgoing self."

"Encase you haven't noticed, Vince is in hospital right now," Howard yelled, slamming his coffee on the sideboard. Naboo sighed softly,

"He'll be alright, he's just going to feel like he's been in a stampede of weight watchers members when a new local McDonald's opens."

"How do you know that?!"

"I'm a Shaman? Powers of a mystic? Those ring any bells to you?" Naboo asked.

"I suppose you're right Naboo. Its just, I feel like I let him down. I allowed him to go out on his own, even though he begged me to come along. I had to just sit there and read. I'm a fool Naboo. Its my fault he's in that hospital." The serious face Howard had worn so many times when he spoke about something he was passionate about seemed all the more dire now. As if everything he had ever previously cared about seemed insignificant at this instant. Naboo felt uneasy at his roommate's bizarre behaviour; he was obvious feeling a lot of guilt right now, he had to tackle this very cautiously…

"Don't be stupid you jerk off. Vince will be fine; he wouldn't care about what happened. He has the attention span of a budgie remember."

'That ought to do the trick,' Naboo thought to himself. Howard Moon nodded half-heartedly and watched as Naboo excused himself and retired to his bedroom. The jazz poet looked into his coffee and sighed. If Naboo was right, then why did he still feel so bad?

As he slipped off his moccasin shoes and slumped onto the couch, events from the past twenty-four hours looked like they were rapidly catching up. As his eyes began to droop, he slouched further onto the couch, his head touching the soft fluffy pillows that Vince had picked out. Before he drifted off to sleep, he first wondered how many times this week he would doze on the sofa as a substitute to his own bed, and then he questioned Vince's health briefly before finally giving into the looming slumber.

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A thunderous crash awoke Howard Moon with such a start that he fell right off the couch and landed with a thud on the floor. Groggily, he sat up and rubbed his eyes to rid the dust from them. The noise had originated from Bollo who was currently balancing a cauldron in his strong arms. On the floor a dark purple liquid was pooling around him and giving off a misty gas.

"Bollo! That was my new batch of Mexican hair thickener. It took me ages to get it right,." Howard could now see Naboo's turban clad head from his vantage point on the floor.

"Sorry," Bollo replied, looking as guilty as an ape could.

"It will take me two hours to make up another lot. Come on Bollo, you'll have to do the stirring again," Naboo ordered, giving the ape a stern stare as he trundled past, still carrying the cauldron.

"Hey guys, what you doing?" Howard asked, now curious as to what the smouldering mauve substance actually did.

"Making Vince some hair crème," Naboo replied simply, "its my famous Naboo's miracle wax."

"But you said it was Mexican," pointed out Howard, now propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view of what was going on.

"Yeah, kind of won the formula in a poker game in Spain. Crazy night." Naboo smiled with a sparkle in his eyes.

"Wait. What time is it?" Howard shot up feeling a slight wave of dizziness at rising so quickly. The clock showed it to be eight in the morning.

"I've got to get to the hospital. Vince may have woken up now."

"Egh, aren't you going to have a shower first?" Naboo scrunched his face up in mild disgust.

"Not enough time. I'm a guy who doesn't require the comforts in life. No sir, Howard Moon is a man of few materialist values. It's the memories and the experiences that really mean something," Howard exclaimed.

"I don't want the memory or experience of you wearing 'that'," Naboo looked at Howard's brightly Hawaiian attire, "for two consecutive days."

Howard frowned and sniffed his armpit in hopes of proving that he didn't smell at all, but he had to admit that he could use a quick shower when the odour assaulted his nose, Naboo grinned, electing a small growl from the larger man.

"Who are you?!" Howard lamely scrabbled for a decent insult before he shuffled to the bathroom, avoiding the amused gaze of Naboo.

"I'm Naboo that's who!" Naboo called through the door before returning to the potion making.

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A/N – This was really not how I expected the chapter to turn out. It really just wrote itself. I promise in the next chapter Vince will be in it more. Originally I wrote this to be a Howard and Vince centric story, but so far its been mostly Howard. Sorry to all you Vince fans! Please bear with me and review! Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Monday morning was extremely dismal. The torrents of rain pummelling the windowpanes of the flat told Howard as much. Still, rain or shine, he had to trudge down to the hospital in what may just be countless hours of waiting. Skipping breakfast (which admittedly would only have been an overly burnt piece of toast and a cup of tea) and shouting an ignored farewell to Naboo and Bollo, Howard threw on a clean jacket and left the flat, meeting with a shockingly cold gust of air. Due to the ruin of Naboo's miracle hair concoction, Bollo and the Shaman had remained at the flat to finish off a second batch.

Howard had set himself up for a bad start, hitting his head on the underground door whilst running for the train and also getting himself drenched during the quick walk from the station to the hospital.

"Its no trek in the jungle," he reasoned to himself as a passing car caused a shower of fallen rain to hit him square in the face. He quickly crossed the road and strode through the automatic glass doors of the hospital. Only then did he bring up a freezing hand to wipe the murky rainwater off his face in mild annoyance. After consulting the receptionist that he was there to visit Vince he set off to the room in question. As he reached the door a nurse approached him.

"Vince can be discharged in a few hours time once the doctor has made his rounds, though I would suggest that he stay with family for a few days until he completely recovers."

Howard shook his head, remembering that Vince had never spoken about his real family before. Only Bryan Ferry, and the jungle was defiantly not a place for someone fresh out of hospital.

"He uh, has no family. But he lives with me, I can take him home," Howard answered, well aware that his soggy appearance did not make the best impression. The nurse studied him for a moment and then all of a sudden broke into that fake smile that nurses seemingly have been trained to pull off.

"That will not be a problem. Mr Noir's condition is now stable although he may be still asleep. You can go in."

Feeling marginally more comfortable that the nurse had finished looking at him in that odd manner, Howard pushed the two-way door that led to Vince Noir's room.

The electro poof himself appeared to be in the same state that Howard had left him in hours before hand; only the hat Bollo had placed on his black mop of hair was now perching on the bedside cabinet. Howard took a seat next to the bed and studied his friend's peaceful face.

"All right?" Howard asked out of habit more than anything else.

He did not know whether or not it was the lack of makeup (did Vince wear a lot of makeup on a regular basis anyway?) that caused Vince's skin to appear shiner than usual. Cautiously, the poet maverick laid the back of his hand on the raven-haired man's forehead and frowned at the hot sweatiness of the contact. So Vince had a temperature…

Noticing that a few bangs of damp hair were falling into the face of the slumbering Vince, Howard pushed them away so they sat awkwardly on either side of Vince's face, giving him a middle parting through his heavy fringe. Howard smirked at how ridiculous the style looked and then jerked his hand away in surprise when the figure on the bed shifted, groaned and opened his eyes.

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Vince Noir drifted in and out of consciousness for the majority of his stay in hospital. Whenever he awoke, it was to a sickening throb in his stomach and head, which caused him to squirm pathetically in his hospital bed. The doctor had already arrived to explain to him what had happened. How he was found in an alley, brought to the emergency room and had his stomach pumped. The assisting nurse took the liberty to give him a lecture on safe drinking and the dangers of date drugs on men as well as women, though Vince failed to take any notice at all, instead choosing to remedy the general shitty sensation by resting his head on a hard pillow and taking in deep breaths.

He had fallen asleep near enough straight after the nurse's visit, becoming oblivious to anyone else who had entered the room. He was unconscious to the furry ape dressing him with trinkets, or of the night nurse taking them off him again. He was ignorant to the fact that the sun had gone down and then risen, indicating the beginning of a new day. Vince Noir was unaware of the routine checkups or general noisiness of a London hospital. But then, all of a sudden he was alerted to something. Something that caused him to pull out of his deep sleep and compel himself to open his eyes.

In his head he heard the distant rumblings of a voice. Words were non-disguisable and unimportant; it was the tone that caught his attention. Forcing himself to become more alert to his surroundings, Vince could now feel something as well. It was a touch on his forehead, a cold object against his boiling skin, giving him a slight release from the prickly sensation of a fever. He wanted the touch to stay there, but he always wanted it to move around the rest of his face, like how a damp flannel would help cool you down on an extremely hot night, so he attempted to turn his head. As soon as he did so the object moved away from his face and he groaned loudly in protest. Vince opened his eyes and the blurring imagery of someone wearing a brightly patterned jazzy shirt along with a denim jacket came into view. His first thought was, "god that's the worst combination of clothing I've ever seen," and then he knew who it was.

Blinking to clear the blurriness out of his eyes, he stared up uncertainly and croaked,

"Howard?"

The man laughed softly and replied,

"Yeah little man. How ya feeling?"

Vince swallowed slowly tilting his head to the side and immediately being assaulted with new heights of dizziness.

"I don't feel…well," he whimpered. Howard looked on apologetically and Vince swore there was guilt printed all over his facial features.

"I'm sorry," was all Howard said.

Vince looked at him in confusion,

"What?"

Howard appeared more run down than usual to Vince and the sparkly electro singer did not understand why. His friend did not answer.

"Howard? Why are you dripping?"

Howard looked at him perplexed and then realised that he was in fact still soaking from the rain outside and the droplets were falling off his hair and onto his nose and cheeks. He wiped his face and then his hair, expelling most of the excess water.

"It was raining," he replied.

"You look like Old Gregg," Vince stated with a cheeky grin.

"What? Why?" Howard spluttered.

"Your face is muddy, you're all wet and you've got red eyes. Typical Gregg symptoms," Vince grinned wider and added, "You look awful."

"I look awful?" Howard blurted, "you haven't seen your hair yet."

Vince's smile dropped at once and he reached up to touch his hair, wincing at the simple movement.

"I don't have bunches do I?" he asked in a panic, fiddling with the limp strands obsessively. It was at this moment that a man entered. Howard figured from the white coat that it was the Doctor.

"Well Vince Noir," he started, consulting his clipboard, "you've passed the checkups and the nurses have informed me that this man is taking you back to your flat?"

Howard nodded.

"Yes. Well just a few things before you go. You still have a fever, which should be treated carefully within the next week or so. I have put you on a course of antibiotics. It is imperative that you take these or you may relapse. That basically means no more alcohol or nights out until the course is over. Although I would suggest not going out at all for a month, just to be safe."

Vince's face was one of total dismay, making Howard feel even guiltier.

"But I have a gig next Thursday!" the electro poof retorted and the Doctor looked at him distastefully.

"I'm afraid that if you don't want to end up back here, then you'll have to skip it," he replied.

Vince moaned woefully, closing his eyes in exasperation. Howard chose this moment to leave and arrange a taxi and the Doctor continued instructing a despairing Vince.

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Once Howard had ordered a taxi, he returned to find the room empty. Surveying the room, his eyes landed on the suitcase Bollo had brought. It was open and some of the contents had been removed. He closed the battered suitcase lid and shut it with a click, preferring not to see the various articles inside strewn about in a disorderly fashion. Picking up the suitcase and making sure that everything belonging to Vince had been picked up, Howard exited the room and made for the nurse station to enquire about the whereabouts of his friend.

He needn't of worried though, for as soon as he reached his destination he could make out that in the middle of the group of nurses was a colourful figure. Vince.

The electro boy was now dressed in his usual attire, though he lacked the excessive amount of accessories he regularly adorned, apart from the cowboy hat of course. From the end of the corridor Howard could hear giggling coming from the nurses and the familiar laugh of Vince. The jazz musician sighed.

"Vince?" he called out, alerting the other man to his presence, "Taxi is outside."

And with that, Vince Noir left the lovely ladies, flashing them a cheeky smile or two and made his way to Howard. Howard noticed the awkward way Vince carried himself and so did not complain when Vince leant a thin arm on his shoulder as they walked down the steps towards the waiting taxi.

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A/N – OK so Vince is awake and still a little bit poorly. I hope that you found this chapter interesting and not just a big waste of time. It took me longer to write than anticipated, solely based on the fact that I've been working flat out for the last few days and wrote this late at night! Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N- Thank you all for reviewing. I don't want to bore you with introductions to the chapter, so without further ado…

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Vince smiled in appreciation as Howard literally carried him down the steps and towards the waiting cab. The jazz poet had even opened the door and helped his friend get inside comfortably before walking round to the other side and climbing in himself. With the door shut and Howard instructing the driver of where they lived Vince turned to gaze out of the window, his chin resting on a propped up hand, seemingly bored.

Thirty minutes must have passed and neither man had said a word to each other. Usually it was Vince who struck up a strange topic of conversation, baiting Howard into reacting with his countless metaphors or over the top tales (which Vince would successfully top). However, today Vince was contented with merely observing the rain splatter against the windowpane as the city landscape rolled by. It was warm in the car and every once in a while he would yawn and sink deeper into his seat, his eyes shutting for a moment before springing open again to refocus on reality. Howard sat horizontal to him tapping his palms on his knees in some off beat rhythm. It was a telltale sign that he had something on his mind and was deep in thought over it.

Just as Vince was about to give into the soothing heat and gentle rocking of the vehicle, it came to an abrupt halt and a strong London accent called out,

"That's twenty quid mate."

Sitting up from his slouched position, he watched as Howard dug into a pocket and brandished a crumpled twenty-pound note. Checking his own pockets for cash he found none.

"I'll pay ya back in a bit Howard."

The man in question smiled briefly and declined the offer,

"Its alright, I got it."

Howard then swiftly vacated the vehicle and rushed around the other side to carry Vince's suitcase for him. He saluted the taxi driver in an odd fashion and the man shot him a peculiar look back before pulling off, leaving the two standing opposite the entrance to their flat in the rain.

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Naboo and Bollo lounged on the sofa watching a repeat of their favourite show, Colobus the Crab, like they always did when Howard and Vince were not around to spoil the peace and quiet. After Howard had rang from the hospital explaining that he was bringing Vince home, they had decided to finish off the miracle wax and stay at home to wait for Vince's return.

When the door opened revealing a grinning Vince and Howard struggling with the suitcase, they simultaneously turned their heads and said,

"Alright."

"Alright! Am I glad to be back or what?" Vince replied in his trademark-excited tone, "Hey Colobus the Crab! I like this," he dropped onto the sofa next to Bollo but winced at how the slight movement jarred his body painfully.

"Bollo and I made you this," Naboo offered, ignoring the wince Vince made as he had sat down. The shaman handed over the concoction he had cooked up, fashionably contained in his famous "Naboo's miracle wax" pots.

Vince accepted it like an overly excitable child at Christmas and started straight away at working it into his hair, remoulding the strands into a work of bushy art.

"Yeah, we put extra rhineseed oil in it to give your hair an extra shine. Figured you could do with a pick me up after the hangover you've got," Naboo replied.

"Bollo glad you back Vince," the gorilla added looping a hairy arm around the skinny man and shaking him slightly in a sign of friendly affection.

"Aw thanks guys! Hey Howard! Howard?" Vince turned in the direction of where Howard had last stood in the front door, but he was nowhere to be seen.

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Howard stood watching the scene with difficulty. The way in which Vince had so warmly welcomed Naboo and Bollo struck a chord. There was something within him that flared up in what he could only describe as jealousy and Howard fought it down with everything he could muster. Why was it that everybody received such a friendly reception from Vince apart from him? Maybe it was because he had let Vince go out alone. Maybe Vince was angry at him for what had happened at the night club. It certainly would explain the lengthy silence in the taxi that had made Howard uneasy and restless.

Feeling like a spare part with the mini reunion, Howard walked the length of the living room and quietly placed Vince's suitcase in the guy's room and then he retreated to his own 'boudoir' just as Bollo was saying something. He closed the door and took in a deep breath, suffering from sudden fatigue. He flopped onto his single bed, fingers sensing the rough blanket material underneath him. Not even bothering to remove his shoes, Howard lay staring at the ceiling, eyes stinging from lack of rest. Thoughts rendered him sleep deprived however, as he briefly pondered how long it had been since he had last slept in his bed. Then his musings rolled onto Vince and as usual it was as if his conscience had been split in two. One part of his mind pestered him on how he should be looking after Vince instead of selfishly hiding away in his room. But the other part (the part of him who had previously sold out Vince to an aging hillbilly in order to obtain pictures of the legendary yeti) was advising him to get some rest; Naboo and Bollo would keep an eye on him.

It seemed that this second opinion was winning the internal battle.

'Vince will be alright. He always is.'

'Naboo is far more qualified in medicine than you are, you are not needed.'

'He doesn't want you around him.'

Howard rubbed his eyes, they were becoming harder to keep open.

'He doesn't even know that you are there half the time.'

'Vince hates you.'

And with that, the paranoid, bitter and self-hating corners of his mind triumphed, allowing Howard to drift off to sleep.

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Vince excused himself from the sofa after the Colobus double bill had finished and made his way to Howard's room, intent on annoying him some more before going to bed early. Bringing up a fist to knock on the door, Vince stopped midway and listened by pressing an ear to the thin wood veneer. The sound of soft snoring was evident and so Vince decided that waking him up was not the best idea.

"Howard not got sleep in while," Bollo muttered as Vince returned to the sofa, looking paler than before.

"Why?"

"Well between carrying you from the street and travelling to and from the hospital, he hasn't really had the time," Naboo explained in an unemotional voice. Vince could not tell if he intended to make Vince feel guilty or not. He instead felt quite flattered that Howard would go through that for him.

"Oh," was all Vince could say, now recognising with dread that the feverish sensation was growing.

"Vince not look so good," Bollo stated in concern.

"Yeah Bollo, I just gotta get some sleep. Doctor said I had some meds to take or something before I have a little sleepie."

"You'll be wanting these then," Naboo offered from the kitchen where he now stood.

"Thanks Naboo," Vince replied taking the medication with great distaste.

"Looks like you've never tasted anything worse. You obviously haven't had the delicacy traditional to Xubron. It turns your skin blue for weeks," Naboo explained, but Vince was too preoccupied with the medicine and the temperature of the room rising.

"I'm gonna go to bed, see ya tomorrow," Vince mumbled and staggered to his room, leaving Naboo and Bollo to watch worriedly. As Vince disappeared into his room, Naboo lent under the sofa and took out a familiar glass contraption. As if by magic it started smoking and Naboo smiled to his familiar.

"You ready for the late night movie marathon?"

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_Endless whiteness, harsh temperatures, and biting wind; Vince found himself in the Arctic tundra again. Howard had just kicked him out of the tent, sending him rolling in the freezing snow. His icy wardrobe consisted of a stretchy red lycra suit and a long flowing white jacket that was thin and stuck to his skinny body due to the dampness. His feet even though covered by large furry boots were frozen to the bone, his nose felt like it was turning into an icicle. In a pathetic attempt to counter this he pulled on his winter hat and rubbed his arms vigorously._

"_Howard?" he asked in a small voice. He was surprised that the man inside the tent heard him over the whistling winds._

"_What?" the irritable voice snapped in reply._

"_I'm cold. Can't I come back into the tent?" Vince pleaded._

"_No, you're on night watch. Don't fall asleep."_

_Vince shivered and looked from side to side although the blizzard snow made it hard to actually spot anything. His teeth began to chatter uncontrollably._

"_Howard?"_

_There was no reply._

_Vince looked around again a few times and then all of a sudden gave into the urge to sleep and fell into a deep slumber, still sitting upright._

_This was the part where the polar bear had turned up and offered to keep him warm in return for the company, but in Vince's dream the great white mammal never showed up. Instead he fell into an even deeper sleep in the snow, going beyond the lowest temperature a human could healthily withhold. It was almost as if the ice was burning him as he fell from his upright position to face first in the snow (this situation felt familiar to him somehow)._

_Burning, burning, a searing cold that burnt his skin was all that Vince could feel and in his dream he all of a sudden was aware of what was going on in the scene. He noticed that Howard had called his name and began fumbling with the zip on the inside of the tent, but the burning was all too much and he screamed._

"_Vince? Vince…" dream Howard called out airily._

"_Vince…_Vince? Vince!"

Vince woke up with a yell, the dream fresh in his mind. What was strange was the fact that he could still hear dream Howard calling out his name.

"Vince!"

"Wait a minute," Vince thought, "that's real Howard outside my door!"

"Yeah," the electro genius weakly called out.

"Are you alright? I heard you screaming," the concerned voice of Howard sounded muffled through the door.

"No, I'm fine, was just a bad dream," breathed Vince. Howard was silent for a moment before replying,

"Can I come in?"

Vince looked down at himself. Sweat trickled down his face leaving the clothes he had fallen asleep in soaked and clammy. His hands shook from the nightmare and he shivered involuntarily. He couldn't let Howard see him like this, it would just make him worry more and then he would miss another night of sleep.

"Um…I'm not decent," Vince replied. It was a weak excuse.

"Oh. Right. Well can I get you anything?" came the strained voice of Howard.

"No, its fine. I'm tired, gonna have a sleepie," Vince hoped that by using his childlike language Howard would assume that he was alright and go back to bed.

"I'll be in my room if you need anything then."

Vince could hear Howard's retreating footsteps and sighed in relief. He decided that he could not get back to sleep if he was wearing wet clothes so he peeled them off gingerly and threw them in a heap on the floor. He slipped into a pair of boxers and quickly returned to the bed, which was also quite damp from his sweat. So, he grabbed the silky blanket that was draped at the end of his impressive double bed and pulled that over him, opting to sleep on top of the primary duvet.

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A/N – I wrote this in one night so I'm very proud of myself. Sorry about the slow plot. I promise you it's going to get better. I have an actual direction now, whereas before it was just ramblings that I had written down straight from my imagination. Please review people, it's the reason why I carry on!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N - Had to reload this chapter because I stupidly called Vince Noel in one of the paragraphs. Thank you McKenzie for pointing that out! I really had no idea I did it...I was writing that part whilst watching an interview with him I think, so thats the reason behind it all!

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Twelve o'clock midday came and went and Vince Noir still had not emerged from his room, Howard contemplated worryingly. Last night, he had awoken to the sound of a hoarse screaming and immediately jumped into the man of action role that he played so well. After finding Naboo and Bollo slumped on the sofa fast asleep in the living area, Howard realised that the blaring din originated from Vince's room. He wanted to burst in and rush to his friend's side, but the more reserved part of his persona opted to knock and call through the door instead. Vince had brushed him off in an unconvincing manner that Howard could see straight through and so, as a compromise, Howard spent the remainder of the night slumped against Vince's door, making sure that the dark haired man on the other side wasn't in trouble at all. Apart from the few periods where Howard thought he heard Vince moving around inside, nothing else occurred and it wasn't until he heard Naboo stir at about nine thirty that Howard abandoned his night station and returned to the confines of his room. He defiantly did not need his other two roommates poking fun at his expense for the next few days.

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Surprisingly Vince Noir also slept as inadequately as Howard did that night. Whether or not it was the fever, but Vince felt sick and unable to calm down after waking up from the nightmare in the tundra. It did not help matters that his body seemed to get cold and then burning straight after. Sweats broke out and then froze on his body, leaving him a shivering wreck, and yet he was afraid to close his eyes, in case the images flooded back. He was not used to nightmares, usually his dreams were filled with flashing lights, the welcoming blear of electro music and hordes of people chanting his name 'Vince Noir; rock and roll star'. Vince often wondered if Howard dreamt in the same way, although in Howard's version he figured there must be a smaller number of people bellowing 'Howard Moon, colon explorer'. Howard couldn't pull off rock and roll if it crawled up his trouser leg and hugged his nether regions passionately.

Vince half coughed, and half laughed, before rolling over to arrange himself in a more comfortable position. His alarm clock shone the digits 13:48 through the darkness of the room, alerting him to fact that he had spent half the day wallowing in isolation when he could be wallowing elsewhere in the presence of people. Rolling out of bed and landing on all fours on his fake leopard skin rug, Vince shivered with cold again. He reached for the wardrobe and half-heartedly threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, the baggiest he had, but still pretty tight compared to the normal dimensions of men's clothing. Placing an elaborate pair of sunglasses on the bridge of his pointy nose, Vince opened the door and walked into the light hallway.

A strong scent of coffee assaulted his senses and kicked away part of the grogginess he felt and he walked slowly into the living room to find Howard sitting at the small table they owned, staring into space. His freshly made coffee seemed forgotten as he clutched it between his hands.

"Alright?" said Vince, poking about aimlessly in the kitchen cupboards. Howard looked up and nodded. Vince noted how his friend's red bloodshot eyes accentuated the exasperated and aged appearance Howard sometimes gave off; was it because he woke him up with his stupid nightmare?

"You look terrible Howard." That was Vince's part of the usual early morning banter but Howard merely sat looking straight-forward, ignoring him. Vince settled for rummaging in the cupboards for a moment longer, before giving up on breakfast and grabbing a jammy dodger as a substitute. Out of the corner of his eye Howard looked on in disparagement.

"You can't have a jammy biscuit as a meal."

""Why not?"

"Its not providing enough nutrition for one."

"I think it does."

"How exactly?"

"Well," Vince began thoughtfully, "the biscuit base contains carbohydrate."

Howard was surprised that Vince knew what the word carbohydrate meant, " What about the plastic red centre?"

"My daily fruit portion," Vince said quickly

"And what else?"

"There's the sugary top which gives me all the energy I need for the day!"

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"I'll make you something more wholesome," Howard replied with a sigh, then rose from his chair and walked towards the spot where Vince was hovering. Laying a firm hand on his sick friend's shoulder he guided him towards the sofa before returning to the kitchen top to cook him up a hearty breakfast.

Vince perched on the sofa watching him curiously and it made Howard determined not to look up at his expectant face. Instead, he concentrated on finding what was left in the almost bare cabinets. Howard discovered a half eaten box of Cheerios, some slightly mouldy bread and an odd purple fruit that Naboo had brought back from his annual Shaman conference. It had been in there some time and looked to have grown features since he last laid eyes on it.

"Cheerios it is. Hope you like 'em dry," called Howard. Vince had seemed to have lost interest and his head had disappeared beyond the back of the sofa, so Howard brought over the bowl and smiled despite himself when he found Vince curled up, sleeping soundly in a ball of his own tangled limbs.

Silently, Howard placed the bowl on the table besides the sofa and crouched down so he was level with Vince. Placing a hand on the sleeping man's shoulder he lightly shook him, but Vince only grunted and carried on sleeping. That was the problem with people who grew up in the jungle; they could sleep through anything and Howard hadn't the heart to probe him further for a response, not to mention the sudden urge to touch that fringe again was overwhelming. He moved his hands to rest on his knees instead and rolled his weight on the balls of his feet. Vince did not look too good,

"Which means, he needs a proper breakfast. Not stale cereal," Howard thought.

Naboo and Bollo had gone out earlier, to man Naboo's new shop (aptly named "The Nabootique"), which dealt in rare and unusual artefacts from around the world. Howard helped out when the Shaman had to go somewhere, Vince usually tagged along but did little more than cause havoc. But it paid the rent, or in their particular case, it didn't as Naboo never asked for board money in return for staying in his expensive London flat. Instead, Vince chose to spend his wage on new clothes and going out, and Howard used his to indulge in the latest craze, whether it be photography, becoming a novelist, or playing jazz.

It was a risqué matter, but Howard thought it best to nip down to the corner shop to pick up some food that was actually edible. He would only be gone fifteen minutes at most. Vince wouldn't be aware of his absence. He scribbled down a brief note for Vince just in case he did wake up and left the flat in a hurry.

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_Vince was back in that place again, the dream place. However this time he was not confronted by the icy barren terrain of the tundra. Instead he found himself in the grotty mountain ridge lodge that Howard had dragged him to a little while ago. _

_Howard was there in his tweed utility suit, frantically drawing frogspawn on a dusty black board. Vince looked down at the pad that he was doodling on, large black text forming the words kill me were being literally carved into the pad._

_There was a yelp of surprise and Vince's head snapped up to find Howard recoiling from the window. In the pane an extremely hairy, smelly looking man pressed his ugly face against the transparent material._

_Kodiak Jack was his name, Vince recalled, although in his dream the 'niceties' were cut out and Howard and the mountain man left straight away, leaving Vince to his own devices. Expecting his straightners to be lying there ready, he walked over to the tiny mirror he brought with him and preened his hair absent-mindedly. As if on cue Kodiak Jack barged through the front door, beard plaited in some meagre attempt at dressing up and a packet of owl beaks in one hand, wilted flowers in the other._

"_Well hello there," Jack crooned, advancing in an almost sinister way._

"_What do you want?" Vince replied._

"_I brought you some flowers, picked em myself."_

_Vince was alarmed to find that Howard was nowhere to be seen,_

"_Where's Howard? What are you doing here?" This was the part where Kodiak would explain that Howard had gone for a walk up on Piney Ridge, leaving them alone for a while._

"_Well, a pretty little thing like you and a mountain man like me."_

"_Get away from me!" Vince cried and took a step back so he was flat against the wall. His hand reached down for the hot straightners, but they weren't there. Kodiak got closer. It was at this moment that Howard chose to enter the cabin._

"_Howard! Get this freak away from me!" _

_But there was something different about Howard. As he peered from beneath his shabby scouting hat, Vince saw that his small eyes were hardened with a cold gleam; the most unnerving smirk crept onto his moustached clad mouth._

"_Howard?"_

_Howard laughed cruelly and picked up his camping backpack._

"_See you around perhaps," he chuckled and began to leave the cabin._

"_Howard? What you doing? Howard!" Vince shouted in a panic, his eyes widening as Kodiak Jack grabbed hold of his shoulders and pushed him against the wooden wall. He tried feebly to push him back, but he proved weaker than the burly bear like man before him. _

"_Howard!" Vince said, tears springing to his eyes in a desperate plea. But Howard never came back…_

"ARGHHH!"

Breathing erratically, Vince shot up and clutched at his t-shirt clad chest. His vision was blurred from the tears that were a direct result from his dream, but he did not wipe them away. All he wanted to do was to concentrate on levelling out his breathing and stop his heart from trying to break out of his ribcage.

After a while, Vince had calmed enough to take in his surroundings with a clear mind.

"It was just another dream," he told himself internally, also thinking how it was extremely bad luck that he had experienced two nightmares in a row when previously he had suffered from none.

There was an eerie quietness about the flat, which Vince was not used to. Where was Howard for one? Surely he would have heard Vince's shout and come running like he did last night.

"Howard?" Vince said, his normal confident tone reduced to a shaky unsure one. There was no answer and Vince's heart began to beat faster again. He did not know how nightmares worked but surely Howard hadn't actually left him…had he?

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The old-fashioned brown paper bag obstructed Howard's view and he balanced it dangerously with both hands as he favoured his right foot to nudge the door shut. With that particular task completed, Howard dumped the shopping bad containing fresh vegetables, fruit and those Saturn Zinger sweets that Vince liked so much onto the counter.

Expecting Vince to still be dozing on the couch, Howard was surprised to find that Vince was now sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chin. His sunglasses lay forgotten beside him betraying his watery eyes. It looked like he had been crying.

"Vince…Little man, you alright?"

Vince looked up at Howard; a look of confusion crossed his adorably innocent face.

"Howard! You came back."

Howard's brow furrowed,

"I only went to the shop to get some food. I was gone twenty minutes."

"Oh…" was all Vince could say.

"Was it the bad dream again?" Howard guessed. Vince nodded slowly; looking even more like a child scared of something irrational, like the dark or the monster that lived under the bed.

This strange behaviour was uncharacteristic of Vince and Howard had a hunch that it was his fever that was the cause of it. He did not want to force him into explaining what the dream was about, but at the same time he did not think that he should ignore Vince's cry for help so readily. The need to protect the smaller man was instinct to him now, so he calmly sat down on the floor next to Vince, his longer legs cramping into an awkward position and, ignoring the fluttery feeling in his stomach, he offered Vince an arm and drew him into an embrace.

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A/N – OK sorry about the long delay! Was this chapter a bit on the boring side? I don't really want to rush along the storyline, but at the same time, I don't want people dying of boredom. So please review and let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

Vince could smell Howard's strange perfume; a mix that Vince had decided could be identified as musty bookshops and the spicy cologne that Howard always bought. Although it sounded like an unusual mix, it was actually quite comforting and Vince found himself resting his tired head on his best friend's shoulder, the warmth from his arm snaking around his own back.

Confusion was the first thing to dominate his mind. There was another emotion there somewhere, but it had been pushed to the furthest recess of his conscious, he was far too distracted with his dream to think straight. He had determined that dream Howard had not in fact come to life and the Howard that was now sitting on the floor beside him was the Howard he had known for years. They stayed like that for a while until the black haired man noticed that his flatmate had shut his eyes and tilted his head against the sofa. Vince made a small involuntary noise in the back of his throat, which sounded like a quiet whine. Howard opened his eyes and laid them intently on Vince.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Just…tired," Vince replied. Frowning, Howard turned to look at him full on, as if assessing his face for notable signs of ailment.

"You look pale," he stated.

"I'm always pale. I'm an ashen beauty, that's my look," Vince retorted defensively.

"Mhm," was all Howard could say.

Vince watched as Howard got to his feet. He felt a chill from where Howard's arm had been, so he rubbed his own arms to regain the heat. The jazz maverick returned a moment later holding the pot of antibiotics Naboo had forced him to take the night before. Howard thrust a few pills out in his hand, a stern stare plastered on his face.

Vince took them from him, but merely stared at the two chalky pills.

"You have to take them Vince. Its why you're having these nightmares, the fever is working some bad juju on you."

At this, Vince forced them down his throat with the aid of a glass of water and willed himself not to move his tongue so it would sense the unpleasant taste of the pill remains in his mouth. Feeling rather sorry for himself, he pouted when Howard seemingly ignored him and retrieved the bag of groceries to begin working on what was now an early dinner.

The smell was pleasant as it wafted from the kitchen area and Vince thought it weird that Howard was actually good at something like cooking. He rose from his position on the floor, feeling altogether better than he had half an hour ago. Grinning at the flustered figure of Howard as he struggled to open a jar of olives, Vince tottered up to him and peered over his shoulder.

"What ya making?" he asked.

Howard jumped, not aware of the presence behind him.

"Argh! Vince! Don't sneak up on me when I'm concentrating."

"I wasn't sneaking! Don't tell me you were in a trance…a cooking trance!"

"What the hell is a cooking trance?" Howard said baffled.

"I've seen it before Howard. Its like you and Jazz, the lights are on but no ones home," Vince grinned wider, finding it all very amusing.

"Don't compare cooking with Jazz Vince," Howard replied seriously, "they are two completely different concepts."

Vince rolled his eyes, " You're right actually."

"I am?" Howard blinked with disbelief.

"Yeah. If you were in a trance, you would have pulled that weird face that you always do. Y'know the one that looks like you've caught a tropical disease off a contaminated shrew."

"…Thanks," Howard replied flatly, turning back to the cooking and ignoring Vince's quiet chuckle.

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The two were eating the meal that Howard had prepared contently and the jazz poet was secretly pleased that Vince had perked up from earlier. He made a mental note to ask Naboo if the fever was the reason why Vince was not sleeping and whether he had some lotions and potions that could help him. After making sure Vince consumed the whole plateful, Howard scooped up the empty platters and received a "thanks" in return.

Vince had discovered the Saturn Zingers now and was already halfway through the packet when Howard returned to the sofa.

"Thanks for these Howard! Want one?" Vince offered, his mouth full of sweets. Howard declined politely which came out as,

"I wouldn't touch that junk in a thousand years."

Shrugging, Vince carried on happily with the neon coloured confectionary, unaware that the front door had opened until the new arrivals had walked in and made themselves know.

"Hey Naboo, Bollo," Howard greeted unusually upbeat in his mannerism. The Shaman looked at him suspiciously, then spied Vince grinning from the sofa and understood the reason behind Howard's good mood.

"Vince feel better?" Bollo asked.

"Yeah I feel great! What ya been up to today?" Vince replied.

"Bollo help Naboo secure Diamond of Harunai."

"Yeah. If you call helping eating too many banana splits and being sick on the carpet ride home," Naboo added, a twinge of annoyance laced his tone.

"Sounds brilliant! Me and Howard cooked. It was amazing, I didn't know I was so good," Vince stated excitedly.

"Well, actually – " began Howard.

"Its nice Vince, really nice," Naboo complimented, tasting some of the food left over in the pot.

Howard glanced at Vince who seemed totally oblivious to the fact that he hadn't actually lifted a finger to create the masterpiece of a meal, but instead of falling into a rant that expressed the fact that no one appreciated his hidden genius, he kept his mouth shut and let Vince have his small packet of praise. Besides, if Bollo (who was now scoffing the last of the meal down his gullet) found out that it was really Howard who had cooked it, the gorilla would most likely spit it out all over his face.

It appeared that during his little reverie, Vince had started the process of going through the latest edition of 'cheekbone' with Bollo and Naboo had shuffled toward him holding a white piece of paper in his hand.

"What's this?" Naboo demanded, thrusting the object into his face. His handwriting saying that he would be back soon was scrawled across it.

"Ah. That."

"What do you think you're doing leaving Vince on his own? What happened to 'I'll look after him, leave it to me?' " Naboo looked seriously pissed off, like he was going to turn his back on him any second now.

"He was asleep and I was only gone a short while," protested Howard, although he knew that he was wrong and that it had led to Vince having a mini breakdown in the middle of the flat. Naboo had telepathic powers, Howard was sure, because at that moment, the tiny Shaman looked straight into his eyes, searching for some hidden information.

"Something happened with Vince when you were out." A statement more than a question.

"Well…you see…he had another bad dream. I came back and he was in a pretty shaken up state." How could he have possibly have worded that without sounding completely pathetic.

Naboo however come across concerned at this news and his angry façade dropped as he whispered to Howard,

"Bollo said he had a bad feeling, when Vince was screaming last night."

"I thought you didn't hear that," said Howard.

"It was impossible not too. I was off my head on Shaman Spice and even I was woken up. Don't think I didn't see you camping outside his door either," Naboo replied with a wily smile spread over his smug face.

Dread pitted itself in Howard's stomach again as he tried frantically to hide the slight blush that crept up onto his cheeks. What exactly did Naboo know? That he had been feeling extremely over protective over his feminine looking best friend lately. That he also liked how Vince had accepted his arm and leaned into him. Howard willed himself to stop thinking such things, he did not trust Naboo not to do some freaky mind trick on him and report everything back to Vince, who would then probably look at him as if he were a big walking joke and find other…less anti-social type friends. Friends he probably did deserve…

"Someone had to. It wasn't going to be you was it?" Howard snapped coolly, hoping that his icy demeanour would freeze the trail that Naboo was following.

"You seem a bit defensive," Naboo pointed out, "I'll look this dream thing up. See if my mate Barry knows anything about it. This is his sort of thing."

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Naboo and Bollo had retired to their rooms relatively early. Vince could see that Naboo's light was still on though; he put it down to secret Shaman business, and that did not fully appeal to him unless it led to pulling goth girls. Howard was currently sleeping next to him, on the sofa, which they hadn't moved from in hours. Truthfully, Vince was so close to falling asleep as well it hurt his eyes to keep them open, but the dreams had scared him enough to attempt another all nighter.

It helped that Howard was next to him, except his constant heavy breathing was lulling him to the land of nod ever so slightly. To remedy the sleepy feeling, he poked the tele remote to find the MTV channel and in doing so had moved enough for Howard to slip from his slumped albeit upright position to sprawled over half the settee, leaving Vince very little room to manoeuvre.

Uncomfortably squirming in the small space he was left, Vince nudged Howard's head with his knee in hopes that his sleeping friend would move it away, allowing him to settle down again, but instead Howard's face scrunched up in a mild distortion and buried further into the crease between the couch and Vince's thigh. Vince stared at the shaggy head, brown hair falling in unstylish angles and he smiled warmly. Howard was so good at looking after him when he got into trouble. Only yesterday he had come to pick him up from the hospital and he had even cooked for him today. He did not know of any one else that would put up with his diva tendencies. In a gesture of fondness, Vince gently wedged his hand under Howard's head and lifted him up out of the cramped position. He lay him down on his lap, sure that Howard was now more comfortable, judging by the disappearing frown on his face, which was replaced by an uncomplicated look. The furrowed brow lines had gone.

Although, not entirely comfy himself, Vince was more than happy to let Howard's head rest on his lap. This was him returning the favour in his own simple way. Looking at the corridor which led to all the bedrooms, he saw that Naboo's light had now gone out, everybody in the flat was asleep. Vince then glanced from side to side, as if looking out for the possibility that at night, his dreams transforming into existent beings. But on the third turn of his head, sleep finally kicked in and his head dropped forward so that his chin relaxed onto his chest.

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A/N- Not a long chapter and it was kind of rushed, but I posted it this soon because I'm going away next week. I may try and get another chapter out because that's when I'm planning the next big cliff-hanger!!! Be nice to this chapter, it's a fragile one!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N- Well I'm back from my mini holiday, which was brilliant (and consequently put me in a good enough mood to write like I've never written before!), so I hope I didn't make you wait too long for the next exciting chapter of "Crisis". Enjoy!!!

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True to his word Naboo had contacted his mate Barry that night. It was not easy. Barry had a tendency to travel and usually was unattainable. In previous circumstances, Naboo had only met him at Shaman conferences and when he least expected it (Shamansburys was the last occasion). In the end, Naboo had resorted to the Magic pages, looking up Barry's old flatmate and tracking him down from there.

"Alright Naboo, haven't heard from you in ages," Barry had said through his travelling blow up crystal ball.

"Yeah. How's the upgrade working for you?"

"I got myself another, its kingfisher called Terry. Lost the sonar feature but this version is one hundred percent waterproof. You still got Bollo?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I actually need a favour," said Naboo, eager to get to the point.

Barry's thick Welsh accent echoed quietly out of the pearl like ball, "I owe you a favour ever since you stopped me from getting off with that yeti girl at that party last year. I was out of my face that night."

"Well, its this guy I live with. He's been having these bad dreams and I don't think they're entirely natural," Naboo explained, making sure to keep his voice down so Vince would not hear from the other room.

Barry probed him for a more detailed account of the dreams, and Naboo realised that he had not asked Vince what they portrayed.

"Well if you don't know what the dreams are about, then use the dream mirror," Barry advised.

Ah yes, the dream mirror; a handy tool that every Shaman should add to his collection. By placing the mirror over the face of the person asleep, the user was able to see an exact reflection of any occurring dream.

"Once the nature of the dream is determined, call me on my extension ball and I'll send Terry over with an antidote."

"Thanks Barry," Naboo replied, "I'll sort out some of that beer you like as a thanks."

Barry's ginger face faded away from the blow up ball and Naboo made a beeline for his bag of magical mirrors. Vince on one of his occasional raids had pilfered the majority of them. But a small rustic mirror; round in shape with a coppery frame lay at the bottom, forgotten. Naboo picked it up and studied the object with interest. He could understand why Vince would bypass this particular item. It was drab, faded and ugly looking; everything Vince was not.

Deciding to test the magical mirror out on something more predictable, Naboo switched off his oil lamp and waited for a while in the dark, twirling the mirror round in his thin fingers expertly. After a short while, he decided to risk it and left his room.

On the couch, Vince slept upright with Howard slumped over him ungracefully. Naboo could hardly believe the amusing sight before him. The Shaman moved on, ensuring that he should not get distracted from his current task. He entered Bollo's room, not really bothering to tread lightly (Bollo's snore was loud enough to drown out a herd of rampaging rhinos). Naboo held the mirror over his familiar's face and used his thumb to press down a semi-hidden button on the handle. The mirror shone in the darkness and the exterior frame appeared to thicken and morph into vines one would find in a jungle. The tiny Shaman stared into the glass and it was as if he were watching an extremely surreal television programme.

Bollo was in the mirror, and he was riding what could only be described as a giant horse consisting solely of bananas. The horse took off into the sky, which was dotted with airborne pies. These too were decorated with bananas.

"The mirror is accurate then," Naboo deliberated, touching the button again and watching the vines shrink back into the mirror frame.

Returning to the living area to find the pair still in slumber, Naboo moved straight over to Vince and repeated the method. This time however, the mirror lit up in bright electro colours and shone as if it were a disco ball. Naboo squinted against the light and gazed into the glass once more.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Naboo knew the vast desert land that he found himself staring at. It was his homeland Xubron. From his vantage point, Naboo was able to see everything going on in what he knew was Vince's dream and at this precise point, a tribe native to this particular region was surrounding Vince and Howard. The tiny cerulean chief who wore a ridiculous hat was praising Vince, and glaring at Howard who was being beaten mercilessly by a large blue giant. Naboo realised that Vince was reliving the recent fountain of youth fiasco.

_The dream progressed and all of a sudden Howard and Vince were standing in a tent. Or rather, Howard was standing nursing a black eye and donning a humiliating loincloth, and Vince was lazily sprawled upon the many comfortable cushions in the corner._

"_Whats the rush?" Vince drawled, laying an arm behind his head and looking up at Howard smugly._

"_What do you mean, 'what's the rush?' We're being held captive by a violent dwarf!" The chains about Howard's neck jangled angrily, just like his tone of voice._

"_I'm not," Vince replied with a smirk. _

_Unexpectedly, Howard stopped mid-yell and smiled…no he was grinning. Vince ceased twirling the fancy peacock feather he was holding and frowned._

_Laughing now, as if the whole situation was completely side-splitting, Howard took a few steps closer so he was standing at the feet of Vince's pile of pillows._

"_That was always the funniest thing about you Vince, you were always so obsessed with yourself. Are you capable of even contemplating something other than what to wear next Thursday or your stupid hair?"_

_Vince propped himself up onto his elbows, a hurt look flitted across his busy face. Howard took this opportunity to move closer, still grinning._

"_What did I ever see in a mindless simpleton like you?" the moustached man sneered, bringing his face down to Vince's level. Vince felt like he should say something, but he was hurt by the vicious edge to his accent._

_Howard played with the chains about his chest, dragging them off his person and inspecting them, thoughtful. _

"_You. Disgust. Me," with every word, Howard shifted toward the black haired man so he was actually kneeling beside him. He lifted the chain carelessly and studied the gleaming metal before turning his attention to Vince._

_Naboo knew that Vince was thinking of running. The look on his face was one of mixed terror and hurt, but the shock was immobilising him._

"_Alright, I'm sorry Howard. We'll find a way out of here," Vince stuttered, unsure of what to say._

_Howard's grin widened, "too late," he mouthed and expertly coiled the chain about Vince's thin neck._

The scene shimmered and suddenly cut out. Naboo almost jumped at the abrupt change and at Vince's yell as he practically leapt up from the sofa. In the kafuffle Howard (who by some miracle was still asleep) was consequently rolled off of the sofa and landed with a loud crack on the floor. He opened his eyes immediately to see Naboo above him clasping a mirror and Vince breathing erratically and clutching at his throat.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The first thing that Vince realised was that the chain had been removed from his neck and that he could breathe again. Greedily, he gulped up as much oxygen as he could, touching his throat gingerly. Weirdly enough, it felt fine, no bruising or anything from Howard's attack.

Howard.

There he was, spread out on the floor beneath him. Vince retreated a fair way back, not even noticing the quiet Shaman. With a shaky hand, he ran his hands through his hair and carried on gasping for air. Had he pushed the jazz poet off him in some blind struggle? Howard made to get up and Vince teetered backward, heading for the front door. He had to get away; he did not want to be strangled by Howard again. Reaching the door, he did not listen to the words that were coming out of Howard's mouth and instead stumbled through the exit, ignoring the fact that he wasn't wearing shoes, or a coat, or hair product.

Inside the flat Howard gaped like a fish out of water.

"What just happened?"

Naboo spoke up for the first time, "Its Vince, I think he's been cursed."

"Cursed!?" Howard cried, getting to his feet and running to the door. Vince was nowhere to be seen. "How do you know that?"

"I'm a Shaman, you nimwad. His dreams are being tainted." Naboo handed the mirror to Howard and selected the replay button. The taller man watched in horrific fascination as he watched the dream him strangle his best friend.

"I didn't do that. If anything I was the one who got beaten up! We've got to go and get him back. I'll devise a carefully contemplated plan…"

"Are you sure that would work? I mean are you one of the people on Vince's 'most want to meet' list at the moment?" Naboo advised. Howard frowned and worriedly looked to the door again.

"I'll ring Barry again. He'll sort out the dreams in a jiffy. Until then just keep out of his way."

"Someone has to go after him. He's still ill, and he left without grooming. When he realises that, it'll turn nasty," Howard reasoned, pulling on the jacket he wore when he had found Vince in the alley.

Naboo watched him go and sighed, even without Bollo's warning, he could tell that this was going to be another situation where he would have to save the both of them.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Chilled air and the wet pavement was enough to bring Vince back from his dream-induced panic. He collapsed onto a bench in the local park and looked about unsurely. He was not entirely sure how he got from the nice warm flat to this mangy seat in the first place. His bare toes curled around the damp grass as he wrapped his arms around himself. From the lack of people on the street and how the moon was placed high in the sky, Vince gathered that it was the middle of the night.

Not knowing what to do, Vince lay down on the bench and looked up at the stars. Where was Howard? Shouldn't he be asleep next to him? It began to drizzle, but Vince savoured the raindrops on his face, washing away the sleep.

A rustling came from a bush situated not far away bringing him out of his thoughts and Vince turned his head to stare in that direction.

"Hello?" Hellloooo?" Vince called out, squinting in the darkness. Perhaps it was a fox on the way back from a nocturnal shindig.

A pair of large bulbous eyes flashed in the moonlight. Against his better judgement, Vince drew near to the foliage.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The creature shifted in the bush and made a sound, which was similar to a gurgled giggle.

"You know who I am," the unusual voice said, but Vince could not recall ever hearing it before. He squinted, which in the dark was not the best idea, as it did nothing to help him get a better peak at the intruder.

"I think I'd remember a voice as weird as yours to be honest," Vince snapped in reply. He was cold, wet and feeling slightly dizzy from the fever.

"You know me," the voice repeated in their strangely nasal tone.

It was at this point that Vince noticed that the reason he was failing to spy the person hiding was not because it was dark, but because a thick fog had begun to swiftly fall on the park. So substantial was the mist, Vince could hardly spot his hand if he held it in front of his face and so he did not notice that the figure had approached him until he felt something frozen and damp brush against his naked forearm.

He swivelled round immediately and identified an outline in the smog, the 'thing' appeared to reach out and he found that the dizzying sensation overwhelmed him, just as it did in the alleyway days ago. Once more he dropped to the floor in an attempt to stop the vertigo, but he was not successful and as he drifted out of the world of consciousness he thought he heard that strange voice wailing,

"I'm Old Gregg!"

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A/N- End of a chapter which took me ages to write! But I'm happy that I've finally got round to the next big stage of the story. You're probably thinking that previously it was all quite down-to-earth and that it was more realistic that the boosh is so this last part of the chapter is a bit odd for this story. Well yeah I agree with you if you are thinking that, but please bear with me and tell me if you think it is the right move to make!


	9. Chapter 9

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"Vince! Vince? You about?" Howard yelled down the quiet, lamp lit street, attaining one or two lights to turn on in the buildings around him. An elderly woman went as far as popping her head out of a window on a high floor of one of the apartment blocks, and throwing a holey slipper at his head.

"Vince, oof!" The shoe hit him square of the nose and Howard Moon clasped his sore feature with a hand, bending over in a vain attempt to block out the pain. The old prune of a woman all but shrieked a colourful curse, which seemed to be about the loss of her equally as aged slipper, and then retreated back into her flat. The light flicked off moments later. Howard thought it best to not yell Vince's name again, just in case any more old aged pensioners decided to pitch inanimate objects at him

Instead he trudged the rest of the length of the street before he arrived at the nearby park. Howard liked to think that his inner action man was acutely aware of his surroundings, and that his heightened senses told him that the recreational area seemed a bit odd. In reality, the spooky fog and chilled air that hung about that particular space had all but screamed 'peril' to any passers by; the whole place was empty.

Howard paused before the way in, dubious about entering, which caused him to nervously swap his weight from foot to foot. Something led him to carry on though. Perhaps it was the incentive of trying to find Vince, he wasn't quite sure, but he trudged through the gates with hunched shoulders and hands deep in his pockets, as if he thought that he could go unnoticed when his jacket collar hid half of his face. Wandering aimlessly for a few short minutes, Howard began to realise that Naboo was right. Vince was probably already back at the flat, scoffing at him and his dynamic reaction to the situation. Yeah, Naboo was always right,

"and that means," thought Howard with dismay, "that Vince wouldn't want to see him at the moment."

Dejectedly, Howard made a u-turn and trudged back home. If he was lucky, he could slip in without alerting the others to his presence, allowing Vince to recuperate away from him. As usual, there was no such luck when it came to Howard, and as soon as he stepped through the door and climbed the few steps up to the lounge, something much smaller than him rushed at his face. In a flurry of blue gems, the local Shaman Naboo all but pounced on the taller Northern man in what he could only describe as a very mild panic.

"Naboo, what's going on?" Howard spluttered, taking in the Shaman's sombre look.

"This," Naboo thrust a small black business card, that was lined in a ruby red text that spelt out the words "I'm Old Gregg" in italics. Howard visibly paled at the sight of the man-fish's name, and when Naboo handed him the second A4 sized piece of paper, Howard's whole being shook with an unbeatable sense of dread.

The second item that Naboo had given him was a watercolour typical of Gregg's talent. The pastel shades ran into each other, but the jazz maverick could easily interpret the stark black hair against the pale white face. It was Vince and he was depicted laying down, eyes closed and hands bound tightly together. One of his eyes was much darker than the other which probably meant he was sporting a black eye of some sort. The rest of the picture was faded and childlike, as if Old Gregg wanted Howard to know that Vince was with him, unconscious, but also to make it clear that he was having fun with the whole state of affairs.

Howard balled his fist, causing the watercolour to crumple in his hand. Naboo looked to him silently and Bollo (who had just emerged from his room carrying the flying carpet) grunted something inaudible whilst dropping the unusual mode of transport.

"Where are you going?" Howard demanded, though he feared he knew the answer.

"Naboo and Bollo go help Vince. Go find him with Howard," Bollo offered a brief explanation. If it were possible, Howard paled even further.

"You want me to go to that funky sea-creature's lair AGAIN, after narrowly escaping a molesting the last time?"

Naboo and Bollo both stopped and stared at him distastefully, not at all pleased that Howard would even think about not going to rescue Vince, especially after Vince had literally dragged them off the sofa in order to save Howard from a watery wedding not too long ago.

The glares speared his conscious like a kestrel on speed and he chided himself mentally. As a result, Howard's guilt returned full force. How could he even contemplate leaving Vince with that fishy psychopath?

Taking in a deep breath Howard replied, "Fine. We'll go and get Vince. But how are we meant to find him?"

Naboo smiled his knowing smile and tapped his nose slyly.

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The drip drip drip of water droplets that constantly fell on Vince Noir's face was not the cause of his rather undignified awakening. Or the frosty low temperatures. No, Vince Noir, rock n roll star was woken by the man-fish who went by the name of Old Gregg.

Opening his eyes as best he could, he could just make out through the darkness two startlingly blue eyes (not unlike his own) peering at him merely centimetres away from his face. He jerked backwards in shock, banging his head against the cold stone he was laying on.

"OW!" He cursed under his breath, well aware that the pair of eyes had moved away but were still watching him with curious dislike. Vince brought up a scratched hand to rub the bump forming on his head, but found that both of his hands had been bound together with what looked like seaweed. He pulled at the ties, but the kelp was unnaturally strong and refused to snap. Deciding to pull his knees up to his chest and wrap his arms around them in a pitiful defensive posture, he gazed around at his surroundings.

It was as if he were back at Black Lake, in that smelly cave Howard was trapped in, but this time there was no neon lit bar and there was very little furnishing. Vince found with a groan that he was sitting in a shallow pool of water and with another groan he caught sight of his beautiful face in the reflection it gave out. His half open left eye had a large black circle around it giving him the appearance of a panda-man hybrid and his hair was beyond recognition; it looked more like a darker version of Howard's than his usual elegant style. He realised at this point that he was very cold and in a fair amount of pain. On looking up Vince spotted the green merman type creature crouching behind a rock, looking straight back at him. His pink tutu was clearly visible over his sparkling green legs and accompanied with his muddied white boots and silver jacket.

"What do you want you top shop reject?" Spat Vince, angry that he was cold, and in pain, and looking like Howard.

Old Gregg tilted his head to one side, as if he were attempting to make sense of the words coming out of Vince's mouth.

"Howard," he said.

"Howard? You want Howard?" Vince asked, confused by Old Gregg's body movements. The green man-fish was slinking from behind the boulder and shuffling from foot to foot.

"Did ya like the dreams?" Old Gregg asked, going off on another conversational tangent.

"My dreams? What about them?" replied Vince defensively.

Old Gregg smiled a smile that sent shivers down Vince's spine.

"I sent ya some dreams. Did ya like em'?"

Vince did not fully understand how Old Gregg was sending him these nightmares, and why would he be sending him dreams in which Howard wanted to kill him.

"What?"

"The dreams," began Old Gregg, "That's what Howard really thinks of ya."

"And how would YOU know. You don't even know him," Vince replied childishly. He did not like this Old Gregg character one bit.

"I know Howard. He held me in his big strong arms. He knows me n' I know him."

"Howard? Strong arms? That's a laugh," Vince scoffed.

Old Gregg's smile vanished immediately and with inhuman speed he closed the distance between them and landed on Vince's chest. The electro shape-puller landed on his back as all the air left his lungs. Gregg's webbed hands closed around his neck and squeezed dangerously.

"Don't say bad things about Howard. You don't know him," Gregg hissed in Vince's face, then let go. The man who was previously being strangled widened his eyes in shock and gasped for air. Unwanted tears sprung to his eyes, not from fear but from the lack of oxygen and constriction of his throat.

"What…what do you…want with me?" Vince croaked, his voice raspy and coarse.

"Howard…Howard will come if you're here."

XXXXXXXXXXX

It was still dark when Naboo, Bollo, and Howard set off to find Vince on Naboo's magic carpet and so the Shaman had refrained from placing an invisibility charm over the flying form of transport. It would have taken time, and Naboo was vaguely worried that they could not spare it. He sat at the front, navigating the airborne rug while Bollo was seated behind him alongside Howard.

"Carpet is slower than normal," the gorilla muttered.

"Its because of the extra weight," Naboo called over the wind whistling past them.

"Don't look at me. Why are you looking at me?" Howard replied cagily, referring to the glare of Bollo, "I'm not fat if that's what your saying… this here," Howard motioned to his torso and belly, "its packed muscle. Its waiting to spring into action."

"Waitin' to grab nearest McDonalds," said Bollo.

"Shush your lips up, or I'll come at you like a Northern speed train. One that doesn't stop at every station. It'll just run you down like a rampaging…horse"

Bollo was about to reply with something that was probably more intelligent than Howard's statement, but Naboo decided to intervene, "We're meant to be looking for Vince, not trying to win the 'twit of the year' award. Bollo hand me that map."

Howard went back to moodily staring at the Indian style carpet. Once in a while he would inspect his belly, telling himself that he wasn't fat at all and Bollo (the twenty stone ape) had no right to talk. He would never look over the edge, at the plummeting drop downwards that led to a squishy end. Howard hated heights, but he hated Old Gregg more and so it was plain to see that he wasn't having the time of his life.

The only thought keeping him there (apart from the fact that he couldn't get off the carpet right there and then) was the idea that Vince was alone with that mad man slash fish combo and no one deserved that. It also occurred to Howard that Vince's kidnapping was almost certainly down to him. Because he was closest to Vince, Old Gregg had targeted the black haired Mick Jagger fan just so he could get his slimy hand on the Jazz man himself. Howard looked to Naboo and his familiar who were examining their magical pages map. He wasn't interested in the voodoo side of the plan, although Naboo had told him that he had looked up all places where Old Gregg could have taken him. He had pinpointed a place just outside of London; a large lake surrounded by trees with evidence of an underwater cave. Perfect match.

They were nearly there and Howard nervously ran a hand through his knotted hair. He hoped that they were in time to save Vince from a likely sticky situation and he also hoped that he would not have to come face to face with Old Gregg again. Naboo could perform a bit of his Hocus Pocus jargon and send Old Gregg a truckin'. He'd done it before; he could do it again.

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A/N- Short chapter. Sorry. The reason is I'm back at college and so I have less time to write. I'm getting close the end of this particular story and I don't want to rush the ending so please bear with me and keep reviewing! Constructive criticism is always welcome!


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